A couple of minutes later, Foue Eyes and I left the city hall building and, passing by the dead special forces soldiers at the doors, headed toward the place where the Wolfpack squad had once exited the underground laboratories.
But I hadn't taken into account one inconvenient detail: my companion was alive. So not only did we have to move slow pace, but we also had to fight off—or rather, help her fight off—the zombies. No, we could have taken the upper routes, but again, my companion was human, and carrying only a conditionally allied unit on my back could be slightly dangerous. And I didn't want to reveal all my abilities. It's better to be considered a strong zombie with some Licker abilities—a transitional stage, really—than some kind of monster… which is what I actually am.
But when we turned from yet another alley onto the main street, it happened.
First, my companion warned me that a crowd of monsters was approaching. Hmm. I even felt a bit sorry for my fellow creatures… It seems I had drunk too much blood earlier, and my thoughts were still wandering in the wrong direction.
Still, we quickly fought off the crowd of frenzied zombies. Only some of them turned into Crimson Heads. That was an unpleasant surprise… but let's go into a little more detail.
"Hey, HiF-05!" my companion called out to me—but I interrupted her.
"Please, just Cain. I am still a full-fledged person, and I find such treatment offensive," I said softly, but with confidence. After all, the skills I'd learned from my last two victims were definitely useful—even the theory of persuasion was in there.
"…Never mind! Some of the signals from the zombies we killed haven't disappeared from my radar. What's more, they've moved into a more intense spectrum!" she said, and with a sharp movement brought her rifle behind my back.
It's clear that there's nothing unclear here. Especially considering that a zombie also had risen behind her, its flesh shifting to a blood-red hue as it lunged sharply in her direction.
I shifted to the right with a light, practiced motion, as if I'd done it hundreds of times before. In the same movement, I pulled my army knife from its sheath, grabbed it by the blade, and sent it flying.
Straight into the head.
Definitely—I'd learned these skills subconsciously. Heh. But the only truly controlled action had been stepping away from my previous position.
Meanwhile, Yamata opened fire, clearing out the group in front of her—the one I'd already dealt with. Well, go figure what this virus does. It seems to be defeated, but if you don't destroy the head, there's a chance even a regular zombie will rise again—and even stronger.
Annoying!
I leaned forward and slipped past Yamata, giving her a better view and the opportunity to clear my flank. At the same time, I pulled the knife out of what was now unquestionably a corpse, drew a second blade, and rushed toward the slightly lagging relatives of this twice (Or should I say three?) dead.
I dodged the claws and closed the distance with a sidestep, kicked sideways, shattering the second one's leg, and swung my crossed knives—cleanly severing the first zombie's head. I spun, driving the blade deep into the back of the skull of the one-legged creature trying to rise.
The second was done.
Definitely, these skills were incredible. True, there was some delay compared to ideal execution—according to Vector's memories—but I compensated with my own speed. And once I got used to it… who knows? I might even surpass Vector himself in close-quarters combat.
Heh. I should've taken Lupo's machete.
I turned—and the zombie reaching for me lost both arms thanks to a combined strike from my knives. Tsk. I really needed to measure my strength, or I'd snap the steel—or dull it on bone.
And while I was enjoying myself with the regular zombies, I somehow forgot that everyone else reacts to me.
Yamata, having already burned through her rifle ammunition, didn't waste time reloading and instead drew her pistol. Well, yes—you reload when your comrades are covering you. But there were only two of us here. Besides, she's the only one fighting from a distance; I handled close combat.
It seemed someone was reveling in their power—and that someone was definitely not a mercenary.
Heh. If it were possible to become human while retaining these abilities… or at least something like Wesker—that would be remarkable.
I dodged another zombie's grasp and, as I passed, slashed its throat before driving the same blade into the back of its head. I turned, flipped the knife into a reverse grip, and buried it in the temple of the armless zombie. Another lunge forward—and both knives pierced the skulls of two "redheads" from below, right at the base of the jaw.
A little farther ahead, Yamata stood calmly reloading, having already taken care of the rest. Quickly, apparently, one bullet per zombie. No, she'd done this before, but here the situation was clearly more dangerous, and still she moved with measured precision, shooting in her own distinct style.
The part of me inherited from Vector appreciated that immensely.
"Why didn't you finish them off?" I nodded toward the last pair, from whom I'd just retrieved my knives. I crouched and wiped the blades on their clothes.
"I was curious to see how you'd handle them. Your style is very familiar. It's getting more and more interesting."
That last sentence even made me flinch.
Not physically—undead don't flinch—but mentally. Reflexively. I don't even know how to explain it.
(End of Chapter)
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